


he loves me, he loves me not

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18151946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: As if on cue, Jim began coughing again, three more petals falling from his lips. He was shaking.Why. Why did he have to go and fall in love with the one person on this whole ship who could never love him back? Why did it have to be Spock?





	he loves me, he loves me not

Jim stared in dismay at the small, mustard-colored petal in his hand. Ever the optimist, his immediate thought was _Thank God it’s not a rose._

Carol’s favorite flower had been bluebells. Thankfully he hadn’t had to cough up too many of those little blossoms before she admitted to having feelings for him too.

But here it was, happening again. And this time, Jim knew he had no hope of surviving.

Hanahaki disease was an odd little quirk of the human race. Most aliens laughed at the idea: flowers grow in their throats when they fall in love? How precious.

But most humans were scared to death of the prospect. If their love was unreciprocated, they must have special surgery to have the flowers removed (before their roots implanted themselves too deeply), erasing the person’s feelings for their beloved. But there was always a risk that they could forget that person altogether.

If they did not have the surgery...then they were doomed to slowly choke to death.

Jim took a deep breath in and out. Was his breathing already labored?

He laid a hand on his sternum and visualized roots growing inside and through his windpipe, down into his lungs, flowers sprouting from his slack mouth as he lie dead on the floor of his quarters, left there to be found by Yeoman Rand or, God, even worse, _Bones_. Jim remembered his friend Turney, from when he was a boy of just 11. The poor lad had died wheezing helplessly around a mouthful of daisies. His parents, like Jim’s, had been murdered by Kodos before they could tell him the facts of life, so he hadn’t even known what was happening to him as their classmate Jela’s favorite flowers choked him from the inside out.

The disease always manifested as the favorite flowers of the victim’s beloved. How morbidly romantic. You prayed the person you were in love with didn’t favor something with thorns like roses or something poisonous like belladonna.

Jim looked again at the innocuous little petal. How many more would follow? How soon did he have?

Well, the acceleration of the disease always depended on how strong the feelings were. And since this was _James Kirk_...he probably didn’t have long.

As if on cue, Jim began coughing again, three more petals falling from his lips. He was shaking.

Why. Why did he have to go and fall in love with the one person on this whole ship who could never love him back? Why did it have to be _Spock?_

* * *

There were more petals in the morning, falling into the sink as Jim began his morning ablutions. Jim stared at them despondently, then quickly washed them down the drain as his First Officer entered their shared bathroom.

“Captain,” said Spock, ever calm and collected as he strode over to him. “I heard coughing. Are you quite alright?”

“I’m fine...well, no, I’m not, actually. I need to ask a favor, Captain to FO.”

“Of course, Captain, anything,” Spock said, raising an eyebrow curiously.

It wouldn't do to cough up a handful of petals on the bridge, in full view of everyone—especially Spock. The news of Jim’s illness would spread through the ship like wildfire, causing discord amidst the crew. Best to fix this thing quietly.

“I’m a little under the weather, Spock; I’m going to need a personal day. Can you take over command just for today, two days maximum?”

“Of course, Captain, please, take all the time you require to return to full health. I am more than capable to manage ship functions until you are ready to return to duty.”

“I can’t think of anyone I can count on more than you, Spock,” Jim smiled, allowing himself to briefly squeeze the Vulcan’s shoulder. Already having been up two hours before Jim, the man was already dressed and groomed to aesthetic perfection. If Jim didn’t see Spock’s makeup kit and hair care products everyday in this room, he would think the Vulcan used magic to make himself so strikingly beautiful...Jim felt another surge of petals in his throat.

“Excuse me,” Jim tried to utter without opening his mouth, turning away quickly and taking cover in his room, his larynx on fire.

* * *

“These are Vulcan alright, sir,” said Sulu, squinting at the petal grasped in his forceps. “This is from a _yelas_ flower. _Yelas_ coming from the Vulcan word for sun, _yel_ , of course. Even though they’re technically called ‘sun flowers’, they look nothing like the sunflowers we grow on Earth. In fact they look more like marigolds than anything else. We actually have a batch growing in the arboretum.”

“Anything I should know about them? Are they poisonous?”

“Oh. Ah, no sir. No thorns or stinging hairs either. You could probably eat one of these things and be perfectly fine...although I wouldn’t recommend it.” Sulu laughed half-heartedly.

Jim nodded, smiling politely. Sulu stared at him, mirroring the Captain’s somber mien. His dark eyes crinkled sympathetically. Jim hated that look—it reminded him of when he was rescued from Tarsus IV and brought back to live on Earth. Everyone knew him, knew who his parents were, knew what had happened on that colony. It made Jim feel about 2 inches tall.

Sulu cleared his throat, looking away. “Peonies, sir.”

“What?”

“My husband Ben. His favorite flowers are peonies...found that out the hard way.”

Jim nodded again.

“I’ll of course, keep this completely confidential, sir.”

Jim smiled faintly, patting his shoulder. “I had no doubt, Helmsman.”

* * *

“I have to show you something,” Jim said quietly, dropping a small plastic sample bag on the good doctor’s desk, the petals he’d coughed up in the past day stored inside.

Bones stared at them, face unreadable. Jim bit his lip, looking at the ground, waiting for him to break the silence.

Finally Bones looked up. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get on the operating table and we’ll get it out of you.”

Jim shook his head. “I can’t go through with the procedure, Bones.”

“And why in God’s black, spiraling abyss that we call space _not?”_

“Because...because it’s _Spock_ ,” Jim admitted.

“Jesus Christ,” Bones growled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Jim, _you don’t fuck around with Hanahaki disease._ There’s a 100% mortality rate without the procedure, everybody knows this! It’s killed more people than all three World Wars put together!”

“But what if I forget Spock, Bones?!” Jim exclaimed. “What are the chances of that, huh?”

Bones sighed in disgust. “If we’ve caught it early enough, fairly low. When did you start regurgitating petals? How accelerated are your symptoms?”

“I coughed up the first one yesterday evening, after Spock left my quarters—we were having our nightly chess match.”

“So you coughed up _all_ these between last night and now?” Bones said, staring at the small baggie.

“It’s not _that_ many...”

“It’s a lot for 16 hours! Jim, this is _serious!_ I don’t know if it’s just this funny Vulcan sun blossom’s growth rate or your damned romanticism—though my money’s on the latter—but the acceleration of this disease is happening at an alarming rate! Now, I’ll pull rank as CMO if I have to, to make you get the procedure. I’m not gonna let you throw your life away on some flight of fancy!”

“It’s not a-!” Jim suddenly erupted into a coughing fit, crumpling in on himself. A wave of yellow petals burst from his mouth, fluttering to his lap and the floor. Jim gasped, throat feeling thick and dry as a bone, and Bones quickly got him a glass of ginger ale—water was unadvised for those with Hanahaki, seeing as it would nourish the flowers trying to take root. Jim sipped the bubbly beverage through a straw, quelling his thirst.

“You gotta be dehydrated. Hanahaki dries you out.”

“I know that,” Jim said hoarsely. “My urine was dark yellow this morning. Look, Bones...it’s not a flight of fancy.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m in love with him. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I’ve fallen for Spock. When he looks at me, when there’s accidental contact between us...my heart starts to pound, and my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. I haven’t felt like this since...Carol.”

“Holy shit,” Bones said, eyes widening. “This _is_ serious.”

Jim nodded miserably, wrapping his lips around the straw and sucking more ginger ale down.

“Jim...I know you care about Spock. But this is your _life_. You think Spock wants you to die? Hell no. There are people who need you, people who love you, Goddamnit.”

“Bones, I don’t want to forget Spock,” said Jim insistently. “And I don’t want to lose my ability to fall in love.”

“Those are _very_ rare cases. _Please_ , Jim. I’ll get down on my knees if that’ll make you say yes.”

Jim actually laughed weakly at the image of Bones begging like that. Then he frowned at his straw. “It’s really hopeless, isn’t it? That Spock could...you know.”

“Love you?” Bones’s voice was unusually gentle. “I honestly don’t know, Jim. Who knows if that hobgoblin even can love someone in that way? He definitely wasn’t in love with that frigid she-witch what almost got you killed when he was in Pon Farr. And that Leila girlie who was all over him on Omicron Ceti III...seems like she couldn’t get much of a reaction out of him till she sprayed him with magic ecstasy sex spores. But it’s hard to judge whether his disinterest in her was due to lack of romantic attraction to her specifically or lack of romantic attraction altogether. Or maybe he’s just not into women. I’ve never asked, and even if I did, I doubt I’d get an answer.”

“I feel the same way,” Jim said, smiling fondly. “He’s an enigma, our Mister Spock, and that’s the way he likes it.”

Bones sighed, perching on the edge of his desk. “But I’ll tell you this: if I had to name one person I think Spock could be in love with, phaser to my head...it’d be you, Jim.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“Now I ain’t sayin’ for sure that he is, but sometimes...when I think he thinks no one’s lookin’...he looks at you with this softness in his eyes. Like you’re everything that’s right with the universe.”

Jim inhaled softly.

“Maybe I’m just tellin’ myself stories, but...” Bones shrugged. “Could be somethin’.”

“You think I should confront him.”

“I think if you don’t, you’ll gladly let yourself suffocate on your feelings for him. _Literally_.”

Jim stood up, heart thumping his chest. “Okay. Okay. I’ll talk to him tonight. Either he does...have feelings for me, and the flowers go away, or tomorrow I come back here and have the surgery.” Jim laughed humorlessly. “Heh. If Spock breaks my heart, it’ll be a relief to forget he exists anyway,” he joked.

“I think that’s a smart plan. I can only pray to God this thing hasn’t progressed so far it can’t be treated.”

“Hey. It’s just petals. They say you don’t have anything to worry about till it’s full flowers, right?”

* * *

Jim was lying on his bed, contemplating what to even say to Spock when he heard a knock at the bathroom door. “Come in, Spock,” Jim said, rising.

The door opened and Spock emerged. “Captain. I’ve come to check on your condition.”

Jim smiled at him. Spock was one of the sweetest people he’d ever met. He could pretend his worry was purely professional, but Jim knew the Vulcan cared about him. “I’m...about the same, Spock. And please, just call me Jim when we’re off duty.”

“As you wish. Have you consulted Doctor McCoy?”

Jim nodded slowly. “He did. And he suggested a possible cure—talking to you.”

“I?” Spock blinked. “Capt- _Jim_ , I know a fair amount about science, but I am no medical expert.”

“It’s not about medicine, or science. It’s about...us.” Jim blushed.

Spock paused. “Please...elaborate?”

“Spock, I’m in lo-” Suddenly Jim burst into another fit of wet hacking. But this time was much stronger than this morning or this afternoon in Bones’s office. He felt like something was caught in his throat. He coughed and gagged desperately, collapsing to the floor.

“Jim?!” he heard Spock exclaim, letting alarm seep into his usually controlled voice. “What’s happening to you?”

Jim heaved over the floor, struggling to push something up and out. Finally he reached into his open mouth and grabbed onto the obstruction, pulling it out and dropping it on the carpet, coughing as he gasped for air. Several small splatters of blood stained the grey-blue fibers. Jim looked up at Spock anxiously.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, aghast as he saw the dribble of red trailing from Jim’s mouth. He bent down onto one knee, to examine Jim closer, a finger gently under his chin. Then Spock’s eyes fell to the floor where the thing Jim had just regurgitated lay.

Jim’s eyes widened fearfully and he looked down at the completely intact, golden-colored flower, coated in his saliva.

“This is a Vulcan _yelas_ flower,” Spock commented, snatching it up before Jim could. “How did you disgorge this?”

“Spock, don’t touch that, I just _puked it up_ -”

Spock’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned on him. “The Hanahaki disease. You have it, don’t you?”

Jim sighed, shutting his eyes. “Yes. And I’m afraid it’s terminal. It’s too late to get the removal surgery now—the parasite’s fully germinated. It’s a particularly advanced case, since...my feelings are so strong.”

Spock turned pale as a sheet. “No. That is unacceptable,” he whispered.

“I can’t stop it now,” Jim said hoarsely, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ll be dead by tomorrow, if I don’t choke to death in my sleep tonight.”

“Jim, surely there is _something-”_

“It’s too late, Spock!”

 _“No!”_ Spock rose to his feet. “You cannot die. There must be something that can be done.”

“There’s...there’s only one cure,” said Jim, somewhat bowled over by Spock’s emotional outburst. “But...I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Tell me, Jim,” said Spock urgently. “I will see it done.”

Jim began to cry. “I love you, Spock. I really do. You’re so wonderful...you’re so loyal, trying so desperately to save me. You’re my best friend and my favorite person in the whole universe...and I want you to know that this _isn’t your fault._ You weren’t to blame, Spock. I just want you to remember that I love you-” He burst into another coughing fit, more blood flying from his lips.

“Computer, known cures for human affliction known as Hanahaki disease,” Spock growled sternly.

_“There are two known remedies to Hanahaki disease: elective growth removal surgery. And explicit reciprocation of romantic feelings by the object of the victim’s desire.”_

“Jim, who are you in love with? Please, tell me if you can, there might be a chance-”

Jim wheezed helplessly, blinking up at him in a daze. He wavered on his haunches, and was caught by Spock before his head hit the ground.

“Jim, _please_ ,” Spock whispered. “Do not leave me.”

Jim opened and closed his eyes weakly. He mustered all his strength to find Spock’s hand with his own, wrapping their fingers around each other.

 _This is enough. Just hold me, my love,_ he thought desperately at him before slipping away.

Spock’s eyebrows shot up in realization. “Jim, I love you. I am _in love_ with you!” he cried. “Please, _ashayam_ , my only friend, my only love...I cannot let you die.”

Jim lay still in his arms. He looked strangely peaceful, as if he were sleeping, save for the blood staining his mouth. Spock’s eyes squeezed shut, and he leaned forward and kissed his beloved’s forehead.

Suddenly Jim gasped, jolting to life, sputtering and inhaling desperately. He blinked rapidly. “I’m alive!” he rasped. “I’m alive...”

Spock’s heart soared with relief. “Jim!” he exclaimed.

Jim smiled weakly up at him. “I’m okay, Spock.” He raised a hand and touched his cheek. “I’m okay.”

* * *

Three days later, Spock heard a chime at his door. “Enter,” he said, putting down his PADD.

The doors slid open and Jim strode in, holding something behind his back. “Hey, you,” he said, grinning shyly.

“Jim. I see Doctor McCoy has released you from sick bay. I trust he has given you a clean bill of health.”

“Yep. I’m all good to go. I’m technically off duty for the next two days, supposed to be taking it easy.” Jim’s eyes glittered as they looked at Spock, laser-focused and utterly adoring. “You saved my life, Spock.”

Spock blushed green, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I am glad you are alive. Your loss would be unbearable.”

Jim stepped closer and pulled the mystery item out from behind his back--a bouquet of _yelas_ flowers. “I wanted to bring you something. To say thank you. Sulu let me pick them from the arboretum. They’re your favorites, right?”

“Indeed.” Spock took them. “Thank you...but I would think you would never want to see a _yelas_ flower again after your affliction.”

“If they make you happy, I’m happy to bring them to you,” Jim murmured, raising himself on his tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.


End file.
